She’s bare now.
Dripping.
Her pussy glistens under the soft light, wet and needy, lips flushed and parted like she’s been waiting for this her whole life.
I drag the panties down her thighs, past her knees, down her calves.She lifts one foot, then the other, and I let them drop to the floor.
And I stay there for a second.Kneeling.Staring.
Because fuck me, she is stunning.
Legs parted.Body open.Chest rising and falling.She’s not even pretending to be unaffected.
She’s trembling.
Monty watches from the side, jaw clenched, his cock flushed and straining against his abs, but he doesn’t move.He knows better.He knows what I need.
I grab the second towel and unfold it slowly.My gaze never leaves her.
I start at her knee.Press the cloth to her skin in slow, gentle circles.Then lower, to her calf.My other hand strokes the opposite thigh, grounding her.
She breathes harder.
I reach her inner thigh, and I don’t stop at the water.I drag the towel up—higher—closer—until the edge of the cloth brushes the soft swell of her pussy.I’m careful.Reverent.
But not perfect.
My fingers slip.
Just barely.
My knuckle grazes her mound—warm and so fucking soft—and she gasps like I shocked her.
I look up.
Her eyes are glassy.Her lips parted.Her hands are at her sides like she doesn’t know what to do with them.
I lean forward.
I lick a droplet from her thigh.Just above the curve where her legs part.
She jerks.
And I smile.
Then I lick another—lower—closer to the seam of her, right where her thigh meets her heat.I don’t kiss her pussy.Not yet.
She arches forward, chasing it.
“Come help me,” I say to Monty, my voice low and dark, still not looking away from her.“She deserves more than one pair of hands.”
He’s beside me a second later, towel in hand, his face wrecked and reverent all at once.
He starts at her shoulders.Carefully.He presses the towel along her arms, then over her chest, barely brushing her nipples as he moves lower—slow enough to make her whimper, fast enough to make her ache.
I dry the inside of her thighs while he runs the towel down the slope of her stomach.His knuckles graze her belly.My mouth grazes the top of her mound.
She moans—quiet, broken.
